If I Were Brave…

…I’d write a book. It shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? I’m not too modest to know I’ve got some skillz in the writing arena. I’ve probably wasted about a billion words in the blogosphere. I’ve got about 40 songs under my belt and hundreds of poems. I love to write. How hard would it be to put together a few hundred pages of logically connected, finely executed, well thought-out prose? Sounds simple doesn’t it?

The book is the spoon.

To answer this I must examine the reasons I have not yet even begun to try and write a book. To be honest, I’m intimidated by the process. Also, I’m a procrastinator and lazy as well. I don’t do well with self-imposed deadlines whether they be time or content related. I’ve joked that I can’t comply with deadlines unless motivated by a paycheck or an angry mob – but it’s not really a joke. I don’t even try and pretend there are any real excuses for myself.

I can write a decent song in about 2 hours. I can write a meaningless blog entry in about an hour. I can write a poem in about half an hour. I can write a killer haiku in about 40 seconds. If I could translate these abilities into writing a book I could probably get it done in a few months. If I could write a book and get it published, I could potentially quit my meaningless, soul-sucking administrative job and *gasp!* perhaps even earn a living by writing. So. WTF?

Every few months I start mulling all the above points over and over in my mind. It never amounts to anything. I never even get as far as choosing potential subjects or storylines. In fact this is where I always drop the book project. I just can’t wrap my mind around a subject or genre. Fact? Fiction? Memoir? Which will it be when I finally get pregnant with this book?

Curled on my couch the other night, I was trying to get into the movie I had rented. It had been a long day and I really wanted no more than to lose myself in video for a couple of hours before retiring. I felt a little restless, however, mentally and physically. My mind refused to focus on the movie. I started pacing around the house. I smoked a cigarette. I smoked another cigarette. I sat down again. Then it came to me – my idea. My big literary breakthrough. I grabbed one of my many empty journals (bought and stored in plain view, in anticipation of this very moment) and started scribbling. A genre, a subject, a starting point, some segues, you name it – they all started coming to me. I scrambled to get them down on paper before I ran out of steam.

I won’t say anything yet about this project, it’s too new. Let’s let my baby cook for a few more weeks before I start announcing my literary pregnancy. I’m absolutely stoked, but this is a first for me. I hope I can stick with it and flesh it out a bit. I’ll be honest, it’s a really emotional subject for me. It seems a little unfair that when the big idea finally implanted itself in my mind, it had to be quite possibly the hardest thing I could ever write about. Once it came to me, however, I knew there could be no other subject. I just have to go with it and pray I don’t scare myself away. I must be brave.

I never thought it would happen, but here’s one more blog entry for the “What I Don’t Know” category. I’m just surprising myself more and more these days.